


Uthando

by 13thDoctor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6859585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wilson invites T'Challa to a hot springs with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uthando

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JHarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/gifts).



> "Uthando" means "love" in Xhosa, which is the language used in Civil War for people of Wakanda.
> 
> Some headcanon ideas were taken from this lovely post: http://brickhousebuck.tumblr.com/post/143983556357/tchalla-and-sam-though-tchalla-respecting-sam-bc
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thank you and enjoy.

King T’Challa was overwhelmingly thrilled when the council meeting ended. Each secretary or businessperson gathered up numerous documents as they bade him farewell. The few who had been rather recalcitrant in the meeting cast nervous glances over their shoulders to the snarling Black Panther statue looming outside; T’Challa had purposefully chosen a location where it would be visible through the glass walls.

But it was not the statue they needed to fear when the warrior was in the room all along.

He bid them all cordial adieus. No King could run a country without some disagreement, and he took their criticism with stride. He even wiped the smirk from his lips and replaced it with a smile when he shook their hands, which seemed to relax them. He had always been told his smile was disarming.

Once the room was cleared, he sank back into his seat and exhaled contentedly. The remainder of the day was his to do with as he pleased, and he thought he deserved the rest after all the stress of becoming Wakanda’s ruler. Standing gracefully, he paced over to the balcony doors and slipped outside to be suspended above the trees. It was a cool day, the breeze carrying scents of the forest and its inhabitants. The afternoon clouds drifted lazily, framed by a soft gold sun.

Despite the rural setting, Wakanda was a paragon for technological innovation and modernization, and the cell service was no exception. T’Challa replaced his work phone in his pocket and pulled out his personal phone instead. It was flashing persistently, the sign that he had many unread text messages and missed calls to check.

Work wasn’t done, after all.

The texts from Steve were the customary requests for updates on Mr. Barnes—Steve tended to inquire every hour or so that he himself wasn’t able to be in the room with Bucky—or updates on Steve’s vigilante justice. The man was a troublemaker.

Wanda sent pictures of herself and the people of Wakanda completing everyday tasks that fascinated the Sokovian girl to no end. She took pictures of statues and marketplaces, of age-old traditions and customs, babbling on to T’Challa as if he hadn’t grown up amidst this culture. He happily humored her, and they had long, insightful conversations where he patiently corrected any mistakes she made in her learning. T’Challa hoped he could partially fill the void that her twin’s death had left inside her by acting as the brother and friend she needed. The light in her eyes whenever she was able to properly pronounce a sentence in his native tongue told him he was doing well.

Scott and Clint did not text much unless they discovered a new scientific wonder or needed advice. Sometimes a jet to Wakanda. They had families, kids. Crime to fight and people to save in their own little hometowns, and somehow Tony Stark never let them be arrested again. They had not texted yet today, perhaps too devoid of coffee to function yet. Small wonders.

The last messages T’Challa checked were the ones from Sam Wilson. The Falcon had proved to be the most infuriating member of the team, and he stuck around Wakanda with Steve. His first day officially living in the palace was spent in the forest, where he managed to find twenty-three stray cats. Every last one of the mewling creatures was found sleeping on T’Challa’s bed that night when he retired. Sam had snapped countless photographs of the king when he rushed shirtless from the room, wildly asking his guard for an explanation and finding them all high-fiving Sam. Most of the texts he received since were pictures of the animals, which had been relocated to shelters or homes, and anecdotes about their days. Or Sam’s. Sam found it wonderfully appealing to inform Wakanda’s king of every menial happenstance, though T’Challa could not complain when Sam was able to reach more of his subjects flying than he could in a day of walking. A bird’s eye view, it seemed.

_R u free yet?_

T’Challa should have found the use of text lingo appalling, but with Sam, it was endearing. Everything about him was.

He clicked out an answer. _Fortunately. Is there a reason you wish to know?_

 _I’ve got an idea._ The reply was almost instantaneous, as if other man had been waiting. T’Challa kept that in the back of his mind for future use.

_Do you care to enlighten me on this idea, or is it to remain a mystery?_

_Hot springs, me and you. You game?_

T’Challa’s breath hitched. He was too busy imagining Sam Wilson emerging soaked from the spring, shrouded in hot mist, to respond right away. The little ping telling him Sam had texted sounded. He shook his head and looked at the screen, which was somehow far too small to be containing such a momentous offer. He wondered if Sam knew what he was implying.

_Cat got your tongue?_

T’Challa had a variety of snide retorts in his arsenal, including a comment that he would prefer a certain bird had his tongue, but he instead sent a map of Wakanda’s many springs. He included brief summaries and reviews of each pool and asked Sam which he would prefer. Sam teased him for not being able to shake the ‘diplomat suit’ even for some fun. T’Challa reminded him of the time Sam made him eat pizza for the first time in his life.

 _Hey man, I ain’t a politician,_ Sam wrote. _Take me to ur fav._

The Black Panther reminded himself how to breathe, and then gave the name.

 _Meet you in 10. Bet I can beat your ass there._ This was not their first race to some wild daytrip conceived by Sam Wilson, and it would not be the last.

_Challenge accepted._

As soon as the text sent, he leapt off the balcony onto the patio below in one fluid motion; getting through the house would have taken far too long. The suit jacket he wore tugged threateningly when met with the movement, and he shrugged it off onto the concrete ground. From a compartmented bench he retrieved a long black tee and trousers that would allow a sprint through the forest.

Red Wing beeped behind him. He turned and ginned complacently at it, looking straight into the circular camera as he slowly tugged his shirt over his head. When Red Wing’s camera light flicked off, T’Challa hoped it was because Sam had become distracted on the other end.

After his dress shoes were replaced with sneakers, he took off running. He knew the route well enough. The path was as secluded as the hot springs would be, and his heightened senses, combined with knowledge of the area, gifted him with no missteps. If he glanced up where the trees parted to reveal the clear blue sky, he could see the outline of a winged man soaring above.

He ran faster.

The warrior king made it to the spring first. It was a collection of rocks, unassuming to casual passerby, streaked with moss. No one ever seemed to check behind the immense grey stones or listen for the bubbling of running water. T’Challa had found it mistakenly when he was much younger and reported the finding to his father, who congratulated him and allowed it to stay off the map.

Breathing in the ambrosial air, he hoisted himself over the tallest rock and swung his legs to the flat top in which the miniature waterfall was situated. Steam rolled past him in waves. He found a spot warmed by sun beams and stretched out on his back, staring up at the sky and waiting patiently.

“Kitty,” a voice greeted from overhead. Sam must have been hovering.

Without opening his eyes, T’Challa deadpanned, “Birdie,” which earned him a chuckle from his companion.

He listened to the real birds chirp around them, the water fill into the pool below, how the metal wings were set carefully on the stone, the rustle of Sam’s clothes—

His eyes flew open at once, immediately bombarded with Sam’s bare legs. The shirt was a little long, covering his hips just enough that T’Challa could not tell if he had stripped off _everything_ or not. He felt his face heat, but that could easily be blamed on the rock’s temperature.

“You scared of a little water?” Sam asked, smiling. T’Challa was becoming rapidly obsessed with the small gap between his two front teeth. “I get it man, cat thing, totally cool—”

Before Sam could utter yet another feline-related joke from that obscenely attractive mouth, T’Challa quickly removed every single piece of clothing from his lithe body and dove into the hot depths of the spring. Sam gaped and tried to function as he followed the graceful arc, the other man’s dark skin shining and hard muscles rippling before he broke the surface.

“I am the Black Panther,” T’Challa called when his head reappeared. “I fear nothing.”

“Fear this!” Sam yelled, and jumped in rather gracelessly, which was undoubtedly purposeful.

He crashed in only a few feet from T’Challa, who yelled happily and swam away. Sam followed, as the king had intended. The water felt magical against his skin, cleansing and reinvigorating. It felt so right to be here in this moment, Sam noisily chasing him included.

“Did you never learn how to swim?” T’Challa bantered. Sam was not a bad swimmer, but he was weighed down a bit by his t-shirt and T’Challa’s skills were unparalleled in Wakanda.

Sam replied fondly, “Shut up,” and jumped.

He must have found purchase on a stone within the water, because the height was admirable, and it enabled him to land on T’Challa. He dunked him under by pressing two strong hands on the warrior’s broad shoulders, and before T’Challa’s mouth was filled with water, he realized he might possibly be in love.

Sam, smirking, let him come back up.

He retaliated.

The soldier versus the warrior. It was quite the spectacle, with T’Challa winding through the familiar spring and Sam tripping clumsily as he cackled. One would manage to grab the other, and they would struggle to overpower each other. Slipping, stroking, they swam the roughly circular pool for what must have been half an hour until T’Challa was finally able to catch Sam.

He attacked from behind, swimming far enough toward the bottom of the spring that Sam could not see him. The water broke like fireworks shooting into the sky, and then he wrapped his arms around Sam’s chest and catapulted backward. On land it would have worked well, but in the water, it was rather difficult to accomplish, especially naked. They both hit the surface and went below, T’Challa still clinging to his friend. Sam’s face was frozen in delighted shock.

When they reemerged, they were both out of breath. T’Challa released Sam and the former Avenger turned to press flush against him, their breaths mingling in the steam around them until it was impossible to tell where each cloud originated. T’Challa’s hands were in the water beside Sam’s hips, and Sam’s mirrored his. Sam murmured something T’Challa didn’t quite catch and shook his head, assaulting the other man with water droplets. Then he stopped moving at all and stared straight into T’Challa’s amused eyes.

The world stopped spinning for a moment. T’Challa could feel Sam’s rapid heartbeat through his chest. The man’s gaze, given beneath half-lidded eyes that seemed to linger on his neck and clavicle, was just like fire. Tightness tugged in his chest, warmth spread between his legs, and his lips twitched hungrily. T’Challa shivered.

Satisfied, Sam shifted his pelvis. The corner of his mouth quirked up when T’Challa gasped, and then he captured that noise with his own mouth. The king groaned and gave himself over to those capable hands as they ran over his shoulders, down his back and over his ass so Sam could grind harder against him. Sam pulled at his lips with his teeth, then lapped at the teeth marks, and T’Challa noticed despite the haze that he tasted like orange juice and salt.

“Happy first date,” Sam whispered against his lover’s jaw.


End file.
